


It's Not Okay

by Goldenheartedrose



Series: The Aftermath of a Crime Scene [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Assault, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenheartedrose/pseuds/Goldenheartedrose
Summary: “....it is what it is” and “I’m not okay,” and “You didn’t kill her” are not even within the scope of what needs to be said in this particular situation.He punched him, absolutely fucking punched him, and how could that ever be okay? How could Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ever recover from that?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bendingthewillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingthewillow/gifts), [nauticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticus/gifts).



> Please note that in addition to this fic containing spoilers for The Lying Detective, it also contains content/trigger warnings for abuse, violence, and assault, specifically as it relates to domestic violence.

Many moments later, they’ll shoo away the other visitors for the day, and they’ll find a sitter for Rosie. They’ll finally take a moment to breathe and then John Watson will find the words deep down, the ones that are clawing at his chest, and he’ll finally say what needs to be said. 

Because “it is what it is” and “I’m not okay,” and “You didn’t kill her” are not even within the scope of what needs to be said in this particular situation.

He punched him, absolutely fucking punched him, and how could that ever be okay? How could Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ever recover from that?

John Watson wants to be a better man, he knows he can be a better man. He knows that the Mary inside his head is nothing more than his own sense of morality, his own walking, talking conscience, and isn’t that a whole other level of mind fuckery? The morally grey assassin is the one giving him life advice on how to be a better man for Sherlock Holmes.

The truth is, there has always been a level of danger with Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft Holmes had said this to him the first time they met - “When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.” There was truth in that, certainly.

Sherlock and John have never been the kindest to each other. Their entire lives had been built on a partnership where either one could die at any moment, and on toeing the line between adventure and justice. They both craved danger and excitement, and if they toed that line a little too closely? They had Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade to help pick up the pieces.

In the course of five years, they had run the gamut of doing horrible things to each other. It was par for the course, it’s what drew them together - the danger, the tightrope of morality and what was just and good. Outsiders would look at their relationship and see a simple crime solving duo, the detective and his blogger, and of course, that was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. There was emotional manipulation, selfishness, boundary-crossing, and harsh words. They slammed doors, they left without notice, they monopolized each other’s time and relationships, and they hurt each other. 

They were both at a level of co-dependence that he knew was unhealthy.

In the end, it had been the danger that drew John Watson to Sherlock Holmes, and they both found the danger intriguing and enlightening enough and perhaps worth all the other “A bit not good” bits.

But this? Oh. What had led them here was the build up of all those little things, those things that were toxic to the both of them, coupled with a miscalculation on Sherlock’s part. It seemed to John that a lot of Sherlock’s most life-altering moments had been riddled with miscalculations. Harry was John’s sister, not his brother, Moriarty could call off the assassins, but only if he didn’t actually kill himself, John would be okay after his best friend committed suicide. 

That last one should have been the unforgivable.

Instead, it was grief that got the better of him. Sherlock had made a miscalculation, had underestimated a woman with a gun (and when would he stop doing that?), and his beloved wife had been shot and killed. Mary had died because Sherlock had been cocky and arrogant, and all the things he always was, but without a care for anything but his deductions. And his wife, his lovely, complicated, and yes, ex-assassin wife, the mother of his child, had been caught in the crossfire, and even that isn’t fully accurate. Mary Watson had died by jumping in front of a bullet to save Sherlock. 

It wasn’t fair. 

He’d found a new therapist - couldn’t face Ella, because Ella would know, and she would talk sense into him. He talked about what an awful person he was. But he didn’t talk to Sherlock Holmes.

In retrospect, John should have seen it all coming. He should have seen the downward spiral, the drugs, the hallucinations (he himself was clearly not immune to those), the manic episodes, the goading of a creepy philanthropist and serial killer. 

He should have seen it all.

But he didn’t, because John Watson wasn’t there to see it.

So when John finally figured it out, it was too late. Instead of dangling over the precipice of danger, he was falling headfirst into it, into his own personal hell, and he was dragging Sherlock Holmes with him. It all started when he had pushed his best friend away.

John Watson had pushed down his feelings instead of dealing with them, and isn’t that what Watsons always did? His father had. Harry had. And look what had become of them. 

He felt the fear, the guilt, and the rage well up inside of him as Sherlock held that scalpel, and he was a doctor, he was an army doctor, and he was just supposed to simply incapacitate, to neutralize the threat. He was supposed to save lives, not hurt them. Not nearly take them. He wasn’t supposed to give into his emotions. But he had Sherlock pressed up against that locker, and he punched and he punched and Sherlock didn’t fight back and he fell to the ground and he kicked and kicked and he couldn’t even see straight until someone (a nurse? An orderly?) pulled him off and he realized what he had done.

That phrase “seeing red”? It’s meant to be a metaphor, and in some cases, it probably is. But in this case? Oh no, it was a physical reaction to all the built up pain and anguish that he refused to deal with. A haze clouded his vision as he punched and kicked Sherlock. He saw red and he couldn’t - wouldn’t stop. The anger rolled over him in waves and all he wanted was to do something to make it all stop.

Then Sherlock gave him permission - gave him fucking permission to hit him.

“Let him do what he wants. He’s entitled. I killed his wife,” he had said.

And John Watson stopped. He stopped completely in his tracks. With those twelve words, his anger had melted away, and it was replaced with something more hollow and painful, and finally, he could see what he had done to his friend. He saw Sherlock, already weak and strung out, and hallucinating, and now thanks to him, bloody and bruised on the floor. A bloody crime scene in a morgue, and it was all his fault.

He should have said something, anything besides what he actually said. “Yes, you did,” he said, his voice full of suppressed emotion. Just like always, John. Just like your father. Just like Harry. A Watson through and through. Bottle it all up, don’t let it out, until it’s forced out, until it explodes.

Instead, he walked away.

The media, and that damned Culverton Smith lauded John as a hero. Even Greg Lestrade claimed that he had saved Sherlock’s life.

No! He wanted to yell. No, you have it all wrong. I nearly killed him, and he’s the one who keeps saving my life and I keep throwing it back in his face.

 

* * * *

“Who you thought I was - is the man who I want to be.”

He'd been talking to Mary, to his subconscious, whatever or whoever that might really be. He had wanted to be a good man for her, for Rosie, and he had failed spectacularly. Oh, he had done his duty as a husband. He had provided, and he had moved them to the suburbs (why in God’s name had he thought that was a good idea?), he’d forgiven her for a host of sins, because he’d made a promise, he’d made a commitment, and those things were important, or so he believed. 

But now he has opened up his heart, and somehow now that means that his ghost of Mary is gone, and it’s Sherlock who is here. It’s Sherlock, who is broken in body and in spirit and who is trying his hardest not to show it. He’s so so careful with John now, and even his embrace when John finally decided that enough was enough, and bottling everything up was useless and wouldn’t bring them any closer to a resolution - even that was tentative at first. He’s quiet and still and he’s waiting for John to set the pace for what happens next.

“Sherlock,” he begins tentatively. His words are quiet, and he’s almost unsure about whether he should add even more emotional baggage onto this already fraught moment, but John knows if he doesn’t say this now, he will lose his nerve, and possibly Sherlock.

“Hmm?”

They’ve retreated back to their individual chairs in the sitting room, and Sherlock has resumed drinking his now-cold tea. 

“I want to say - I need to say - Sherlock. I’m sorry. I should not have hit you.”

“I deserved it. I’m responsible -”

“No, Sherlock.” John’s voice is firm and final, but he doesn’t miss the slight tensing of Sherlock’s body as he says it, so he softens his voice. “No. You are not.”

“But I -”

John kneels in front of Sherlock’s chair, and he’s not sure why he feels the need to be so theatrical, so dramatic about this, but for some reason it matters, it’s important, and there he is, on his knees in front of his best friend. It’s ridiculous, and yet, it’s right. He takes it one step farther, and places trembling hands on Sherlock’s bony knees, pressing his forehead against them. 

“Sherlock,” he tries again, his voice thick with emotion. “You have to know that these things are difficult for me. Please allow me to say this.”

Sherlock gulps, and his sudden stillness is not at all unnoticed by John. He’s afraid, John thinks. He’s afraid that I’m leaving, that even after all that, he still thinks I’d still make the choice to leave. 

“I was angry, Sherlock. No, sorry, that’s not wholly accurate. I am angry. Not at you, God, how many times have I misplaced my anger onto you? God. I’m angry at myself. I didn’t stop her, and I know that I couldn’t have stopped her even if I had tried. I’m angry at Mary for leaving me alone, even though it’s irrational and stupid and pedestrian. I’m a widower at 42, and a single father, and I certainly didn’t expect that, Christ. And most of all, I’m angry at life for not working out the way I wanted it to.” He exhales, his warm breath against Sherlock’s knee. “There is nothing you could have done - could do to deserve what I did to you, Sherlock. Nothing. I would say that I crossed a line, but no, Sherlock, I leapt over it with gusto, and you are hurt and you almost died because of me.” 

Sherlock’s hand moves gently to the back of John’s head, his thumb stroking over the nape of his neck. “It- well, it’s all right.” 

John looks up, and his eyes are glistening as he looks into the face of a very overwhelmed and somewhat confused Sherlock. “It is so very not all right.”

For a moment, John thinks that he’s broken Sherlock, or that he’s made his own miscalculation. Maybe the touching is too much, or the words are too overwhelming. Sherlock’s gone a bit blinky, the way he had when he had asked him to be his best man. 

“Okay,” Sherlock finally agrees. “Okay. It’s not all right. But it is what it is.”

John sighs. “It is what it is. I suppose for now, that will have to do.”

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“I forgive you.”

“Sherlock Holmes, I do not at all deserve your forgiveness.”

“I know. But I want to give it.”

John nods and swallows hard, the tears freely falling down his cheeks. What had he ever done in his entire life to deserve the forgiveness, the compassion of this man? He had done the unthinkable. He had assaulted and abused this man, this man that he knows with abiding certainty that he loves with every fiber of his beating heart, and yet, this man offers his forgiveness freely. No matter what John does with the remainder of his life, he knows one thing - he will never be fully worthy of the love and forgiveness he is being offered.

“I will -- I will definitely need to talk about this again. At some point.”

“Tedious.”

“It’s part of the process, Sherlock.” He clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’ve gone back to Ella.”

“Who?”

“You know who Ella is.”

“Apologies. Thought we could use a moment of levity. Perhaps I miscalculated.”

“Too right.”

“Good, though. That you’ve returned to Ella. That other one --” his voice trails off, and a smirk crosses his lips.

“Yeah. Turns out your murderous sister is much scarier than my assassin wife.”

In the end, it isn’t perfect, and it doesn’t at all make up for the choices he’s made, the mistakes, the heartaches he’s caused. It doesn’t make up for letting his emotions fester inside the cavity of his chest until they exploded into something dangerous, something violent. It doesn’t make up for all the things he should have said but didn’t. 

All of the words he should have said - they will come, in time. In the meantime, he’s going to start living his life as he wants it to be. He’s going to work through his emotions, all of them, not just the nice ones or the ones he thinks he can handle. He’s going to work through the pain and the fear. He’s going to work to become the kind of man worthy of the love of Sherlock Holmes.

He hopes it’ll be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> While I often feel as though I am left with more questions than I am answers upon watching Sherlock, I found it absolutely appalling that the issue of John's assault on Sherlock in the morgue was never properly addressed on screen. I hope my interpretation of what happens next gives this heavy and sensitive subject its due consideration.
> 
> This is also pre-slash, because I feel as though the pair of them need to deal with this before they can even begin to have any sort of semi-healthy romantic relationship. 
> 
> Please note that this is part one in a series.
> 
> All my thanks to bendingthewillow and nauticus for their help and encouragement.


End file.
